


Blood Dyed Them Crimson

by TheCrimsonDream



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/M, Gen, Jack the Ripper - Freeform, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Shinigami, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 21:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5390582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCrimsonDream/pseuds/TheCrimsonDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When sometimes there was more than just a coat and butler's attire to remember her by; and times when perhaps it would be interesting to see what would unfold if she were alive. Though either way, Grell Sutcliff could never have the lack of heart or pride to say he regretted a certain macabre woman in red...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Dyed Them Crimson

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Кровь окрасила их в малиновый цвет](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6235942) by [Frau_Anhelika_Rotenstaub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frau_Anhelika_Rotenstaub/pseuds/Frau_Anhelika_Rotenstaub)
  * Translation into Українська available: [Кров зафарбувала їх малиновим кольором](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6236179) by [Frau_Anhelika_Rotenstaub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frau_Anhelika_Rotenstaub/pseuds/Frau_Anhelika_Rotenstaub)



> My very first Kuroshitsuji fanfic if I remember correctly, written away back in 2013. Still one of my favourite pieces of writing to this day. The first of a huge jump in my writing style to what it is at present.

That coat of crimson.  
He wore the colour proudly,  
Just as she had.  
He stained it with blood,  
Just as she had.  
He took lives of others with that garment on his back,  
Just as she had.

Death was dramatic, passionate, when bathed in that splendid colour, but though she had brought it upon others, she feared it.  
She feared it because of that bratty kid, the one reason she couldn't die.  
The irritation that held her heart like her unborn babe should have.

That had been her weakness- maybe it was just as well he couldn't have children. He was always torn between some confusion over whether it was the femininity and acceptance as a woman he often lacked that bothered him, or whether it was the ability to bare a child.  
Have his babies; to create life- the irony behind what he flirted, joked, craved... feared. A God of Death, one who stood over those dramatic, passionate, beautiful turns of events, but,

Sometimes death was lonely.  
Final rasping gargles of a thrown together pile of flesh, bones and rags, marble eyes swivelling, jutting out of the skull. A mess scraped under the gutter.  
Small bundle, ornate cavernous building full of cold trinkets and heartless keep sakes. A phantom family to watch the cot.  
Dark alley, living on a shelf of a frowned upon shop; a vengeful surgeon- a pleasantly amused reaper in her burning scarlet shadow. A knife pools beauty over the cobbles.

There were days when the fall of his partner in crime wasn't even questionable, days when it didn't so much as cross his mind, days when what hung at his shoulders didn't seem to even have a connection to her anymore. But then,

Days when it just didn't feel right.  
When there was no one to be an actress for, with that dull auburn hair and boring jacket.  
No one to serve a deliberately pathetic attempt at a cup of tea, meek smile plastered on his face.  
When it was just him, the smoggy streets of London and a book of lives that were to end.

Maybe it made him appreciate, underneath the psychotic attitude, the blood lust and the ecstasy of battle, how frail and occasionally valuable, human lives were.

He had always found new amusements, new fancies, new things to challenge his skill, power and his hardheartedness,  
However, every now and then, even he accepted that it was perhaps alright to look back and be able to say, that maybe, she would remain one of the best.

The disguised Death God and Madam Red may have been Jack the Ripper,  
But Grell Sutcliff and Angelina Dalles had written their own history books in each other's blood.  
And in a delightfully sickening, twisted way,  
He found that kind of romantic.


End file.
